


Dandelion Pine

by Byacolate



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Harmony Meets Discord, Introspection, M/M, Meditation, Oneshot, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 08:19:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8005462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanzo hasn’t meditated in years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dandelion Pine

Seiza has never been a comfortable position, but it’s one Hanzo knows well. So too is the concept of meditation - familiar, if uncomfortable.

 

One might reflect upon oneself without meditation. One might simply lose oneself in the white noise of one’s mind. Still, here he sits, hands clenched upon his bent knees. Breathing in. Breathing out.  


 

“Clear your mind of all thought.”

 

His brother’s keeper floats before him, legs folded and arms rested in the lotus position. The sun sits low over the Gibraltar horizon, warm rays reflecting off of the sea and Zenyatta’s cranium.

 

“May your thoughts be as dandelion seeds on the breeze, drifting from their cluster in your mind. Allow them to disappear one by one until your mind lies still and empty.”

 

Hanzo’s mind is neither still nor empty. It is not as though he lacks the discipline for meditation. He had excelled in this as in all things in his youth.

 

It has been... some time, however, and Hanzo may be forced to admit that this is one area among many where Genji has finally surpassed him. Such a thing is fitting when one may deserve more peace of mind than the other.  


 

“Your seeds yet cling despite the breeze, Hanzo.”

 

Hanzo cracks an eye open just enough to glance at his impromptu instructor. He cannot tell if the stare is returned.

 

“Yes,” he agrees - figures that there is little point in pretending. Zenyatta is preternaturally perceptive.

 

Again, he closes both eyes, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.

 

Today Genji is not present - not to meditate, nor at the watchpoint at all. He had set off for a more covert operation in Russia the morning before. It was not Hanzo who sought the monk this day to sit at the cliffs and meditate; he had only accepted the offer received. Hanzo peeks up at Zenyatta again - supposes that perhaps even machines might get lonely.

 

Hanzo makes for a poor consolation prize in Genji’s absence; not all brothers are created equal. But it has been some time since Hanzo last meditated, and maybe he is somewhat lonely, too.

 

The air around Zenyatta practically vibrates with energy, warm and faintly glowing.

 

In and out. The dandelion imagery is pleasant enough, but Hanzo has his own: A wave upon the shore, wiping clean the wrinkles of his mind with every lap. It works, for a time.

 

He wonders if Genji has dressed warmly for his journey. He wonders if Genji has any need, now.

 

It occurs to him that he might ask Zenyatta, who would surely know. This is a man who has known his brother upon the mountaintop - who knows him better now than Hanzo ever has.

 

“Something weighs heavily on your soul. Should you wish to share, mine are open ears.” Zenyatta lifts his chin the barest fraction. “So to speak.“ 

 

A sea breeze lifts Hanzo’s ribbon as it sweeps up the craggy cliffs. Hanzo feels the gentle weight of it when it falls and falls over his shoulder.

 

“It is of no concern,” Hanzo tells him. Zenyatta dips his head. Recognition.

 

“Then I will not be concerned.”

 

Again, they fall silent. In the distance, waves crash upon the rocks. A pair of sea birds land nearby to squabble before they take flight once more. Zenyatta’s mala make a lazy rotation around his shoulders with a mechanical whir. Another wind rises from the sea, and with it Hanzo’s ribbon.

 

This time, the lick of color in the breeze catches Zenyatta‘s sensors. His head tilts minutely to follow the motion. Hanzo watches him, positive that he is also being watched.

 

“Forgive me,” Zenyatta says, his face plate turning fully toward Hanzo. “Your ribbon is familiar to me. It is a pleasant association.”

 

Hanzo casts his eyes downward to his knees. He doesn’t smile, though the urge is there.

 

“I know of what you speak.”

 

Zenyatta does not visibly react; he has no mouth, and yet Hanzo can hear a smile in the sanguine cadence of his Japanese.

 

“Genji‘s sentimentality affirms the strength of his heart.” The mala rise and shift. “And you, yours.“

 

Hanzo wouldn’t know anything about that. Anymore, he wouldn’t know anything about Genji.

 

But here, Zenyatta would be an expert on the whole of it.

 

“Perhaps in your opinion, I speak too intimately of him,” Zenyatta suggests. The smile that blooms on Hanzo’s face is bitter... but not  _ so _ bitter.

 

“You may be the only one permitted such a thing by him now,” he admits and lifts his face toward the setting sun.

 

Zenyatta has nothing to say to that. Or perhaps he has much to say. The concept of tact must not evade Zenyatta entirely, who hums and sinks and follows Hanzo's gaze.

 

“I worry for him when he strays far from my side.”

 

The confession comes suddenly, and it is as though Zenyatta had plucked it word for word from Hanzo‘s mind and read it aloud. Zenyatta does not appear half so perturbed by his own admission as Hanzo.

 

“Such a thing is not entirely illogical, despite his tremendous skill. The work he does is dangerous. Often it can be lethal.” Zenyatta splays his hands wide as though in mimicry of his own flayed heart. And Hanzo’s. “I rejoice in his victories, and in that they are many. And I must simply hope that his failures are ones he may rise from, so that they might in time become his lessons.”

 

His hands lower to his knees once more, and the orbs settle around his neck. “Such a hope can prove... unsatisfactory when I cannot be at his side. And thus...”

 

A warm golden glow radiates from his form - not so brightly as Hanzo has seen it in battle, but just enough to linger upon his skin. An unbidden feeling: Between one heartbeat and another, for a moment, he may understand the change that has come upon his brother, and the change that may yet come within himself. That he may yet know peace.  


 

Real life is nothing like the tales his father once spun, hope and glory and redemption. Concord. And yet...

 

“May your thoughts be as dandelion seeds caught in the breeze. May they drift far and long from you, from sight and from mind, wherever should most please them,” Zenyatta hums. “And may they soon come to rest safely upon the earth where they belong.”

 

Hanzo swallows. Closes his eyes. Breathes in. Breathes out. 

 

Lets his brother go with the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> Inquire about fic requests [here!](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/ask)  
> Tumblr: [wardencommando](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/).  
> Battle.net ID: byacolate#1589


End file.
